


Iridean Dreams Chapter 3

by Gabriels_Mourning



Series: Iridean Dreams [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Merlin AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2258352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabriels_Mourning/pseuds/Gabriels_Mourning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuing my AU in which Merlin of the future changes the past with a spell of joining his and Morgana's darkness and light, making each other Yin and Yang...  So to speak.  </p><p>The plans are set, and Aithusa is set to be rescued.  Old Friends and New Enemies are everywhere, but who knows who is who?  <br/>Kilgarrah returns to Merlin and they get new Outfits.<br/>Serious Mergana fluff, smut and awws.  And I mean it on the mature for the smut.  Honest, some of it's just downright dirty...</p><p>One chapter to go after this, just to round things out!  <br/>Reviews and Notes are always welcome!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iridean Dreams Chapter 3

Iridean Dreams  
Chapter 3

“You’re insane.”  
“It’s possible. The plan, not me being insane. Well, it’s possible, just not likely.”  
“No, really. You’re insane.”   
“Am not.”  
“Very well. I’m not going to pursue my lost cause with you further, my lord.”  
“Fine, so you admit it’s possible.”  
“I won’t argue with a mentally ill person, my lord.”  
Morgana’s rich laugh sounded as Trennen smirked at him over the fire. Merlin ran his hand through his hair and poked at the cheery red coals, stirring up a whirl of embers into the night sky. It was just the three of them, though Trennen’s young wife was sitting quietly nearby. It always amazed Merlin how a progressive group such as the Knights of Tauren had become were also so very backward, actively shunning those without magic. That the warrior had deigned to marry a non-magic user was also amazing. Merlin shook his head and looked back at Trennen, whose mouth had reverted to a thin line despite the mirth in his eyes.   
“How would you do it then, Trennen?” He took a deep draught from the tankard in his hands, and stared into the flames, considering. It took him several moments, wherein Merlin leaned back against Morgana, who rested a hand on his shoulder and played with the dark mass of his hair. Such a change had come over them both, he thought. He had always been drawn to Morgana, but this was more. He looked for her when she was gone, and fretted, not for her safety, but at the absence of her presence. With his first love, Freya, he had been giddy and felt invincible; stealing away to spend time with her and imagining how things would be once they were out of Camelot. With Morgana, things were very different. He worried that it was all a dream, and that if she left him for too long that he’d wake up and she would be the same woman that he’d always told himself was too good for her. He looked back over his shoulder and felt his smile stretching again as he looked at her. Morgana, sensing his mood, locked eyes with him and leant forward, kissing him softly on the forehead and her fingers trailing down the back of his neck possessively. It was still so new, he thought. He was still getting used to the fact that she was different, and yet she seemed as possessive of him as he was of her. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust one another in each other’s absence. It was that each other’s absence caused a longing and pain that seemed only to abate when they touched one another. Trennen cleared his throat and Merlin turned back to him, though he reached up and held Morgana’s fingers in the tips of his own.  
“It would take an army, but an army would mean a protracted siege, wherein freeing Aithusa may mean burying her. We need to steal her, not free her.”   
“So a small force, stealing in surprisingly, could work.” Trennen sighed and shifted in his seat, conceding the point with a tilt of his head.  
“Yes, but there’s more to it than that. Unfortunately it’s not as simple as hop the border, sneak in, free the dragon, take the prize and steal back into the night.” Merlin smiled at that as Trennen took out a small dagger and began to sharpen it absentmindedly. “We need more. How do we get to the throne room? How many are guarding her? How often do the shifts rotate? What are they armed with, armoured with? What is she bound with, how do we release her? How do we get in, how do we get out? We need to be able to answer any asked question, and that means having more information.” Merlin found himself staring, his old grin firmly back in place.   
“Trennen, why do I get the feeling you have a rather shady history?” He gave a smirk again and looked back towards his wife, his smirk spreading wide into a smile.   
“When Tarellen and I were born, my family owned a farm. Nothing special, we grew grapes for the local lord, and dreamed of one day joining his retinue. But our mother was of the Old Religion, and her blood ran strong. Soon enough, we were called to the Blood Guard.” Morgana stiffened behind him and Merlin nodded slowly, drawing Trennen’s attention to him and not to the suddenly pale High Priestess behind him.   
“I know of them. Sworn protectors of Morgause, when she was alive.” The knight drew a deep breath and then let it out. His wife came up behind him seeing their tense silence and he smiled up at her. She was several years younger than him, but completely devoted. Her belly was slightly swollen with child, and she seemed preoccupied with every facet of being a seamstress possible. Morgana liked her.  
“The Blood Guard was lost with Morgause. She was lost. The High Priestess has a duty to the people, not simply a title from them. It was our sacred duty to protect her, not to be her armoured assassins. But that’s what we generally were. She twisted us in her pain. I mourned her loss and do so still, but I count myself glad at her peace. Perhaps now she can rest.” Morgana’s pulse was hammering under Merlin’s fingertips, though she showed no outward sign of it.   
“And Morgana?” Trennen smiled softly at her question and shrugged, studying the dagger in his hands as he ran the stone over the flat of the edge.   
“Who knows where she is?” he wondered, his eyes flickering in the flames before them. “I have never laid eyes on her. Most often my brother and I accompanied Morgause to Cenred’s palace, and she left us there for weeks upon end. When she broke her covenant with the Old Religion and sort to take Camelot from Arthur, she left us there, the only mortals in an immortal army, because we were not killers, not soldiers. We were protectors and with such an army, she discarded her loyal guards in favour of those with no will. As I said… I hope she found peace, in the end. Morgana need not concern herself with our goings on, though. We’ve found another High Priestess, my Lady Meredith… And I am glad of her light in these dark times.” Morgana bowed her head in thanks and Merlin sat back, sighing.   
“We cannot take it through frontal assault. Then our means will have to be magical.”   
“Granted, my lord, however, I feel I should warn you. While none would be above myself more pained at the thought of such a wondrous creature held fast at the hands of the Sarram’s men, the honest truth is that it’s entirely possible this creature cannot be saved.” Morgana took a deep breath and squeezed Merlin’s hand in her own. He returned her unspoken question with assurance.  
“Magic is the very weaving of the possible from the fabric of the impossible, Trennen.”   
“My lord, please understand, the strength of magic that such an assault may require would be greater than any seen since…” He gestured around him to the rebuilt keep. “Sigan’s time.”   
“Sigan’s time is over. His spirit is long contained and ensnared. It’s our time now, Trennen. Our time to do something different. And it’s only the start. My question is not will we go. The question is will you help us to do so when we go?” Trennen gave a low laugh and nodded.  
“I’ve always wanted to see a dragon. We’ll need help. I think I know of someone that can get at least some of the information that we will need. But… if you’re going to get in, get it done and get out again, you’re going to need a better plan.”  
* * * * *  
Later that night, Merlin sat thinking at their seat. As the community had become more of a village, the undertakings had increased, but only slightly. With so many more people and so much magic in one place, Sigan’s Retreat had become Sigan’s Keep. The village sprawled out from the four storey building at its centre, encompassing more and more buildings as it grew along with the number of people housed within it. Small gardens and vegetable patches dotted the encampment, bringing small patches of green to the surrounds. In their room, Merlin and Morgana had used magic to create more comfortable living arrangements. The seat now sported a soft, cushioned mattress, filled with wool to bursting. A cut away into the stone provided them with a small seat, for just the two of them. Their evenings and afternoons were often whiled away there, leaning and watching over the growing village. Morgana had insisted on a larger bath, given the space, and Merlin traded healings and physician’s art for books and scrolls from far away lands, as well as news from Camelot and the surrounding five kingdoms, and these he stored along the wall behind his desk, a simple creation of three stone slabs, the two smaller supporting the larger. Sigan’s wine racks below had become repositories for his books and scrolls, though Morgana was doing her best to increase his resistance to the wines potent kick. Either that, or she enjoyed reducing him to a gibbering mess, which also seemed highly likely. Some days, things seemed almost normal, until he remembered what they were doing. The encampment had had almost a dozen close calls with patrols coming past, and being fooled only by Merlin’s magic fog, which they all knew wouldn’t hold them off forever. Already much of the news brought to Merlin’s ears was speech of the haunted Forest of Iridea, wherein dwelt sorcerers, ghosts, ghouls creatures and bandits. Merlin knew it was only a matter of time before Arthur came with his knights and made the forest safe. He scribbled up the piece of paper in his lap and flared it in his hand, scattering the ashes to the wind. He looked up into the face of the moon, and closed his eyes. It had been three weeks since he and Morgana had vowed to release Aithusa. He felt no closer to that goal, feeling only frustration. He brought his leg up under his chin and stared down into the dark forest, and the encampment. It wouldn’t last, he knew. This whole area was smaller and smaller by the day. There was nothing here that would hold back the tide of Arthur’s army, should he come there. It wasn’t that they were evil, or even a threat to him, Merlin knew. Arthur would come and wipe it off the map because he knew people were afraid and he wanted to keep them safe. There was no way that it would last because people were afraid of magic. Sigan’s Keep was fast becoming the greatest collection of magic users in the five kingdoms. There was no mistaking it. The community numbered in the hundred now. They’d come flooding in on the promise of the Knights of Tauren, and now even though who were safe in their homes were coming. Magic was practised freely here, and not shunned but celebrated. Merlin worked hard every day to make certain that there was no divide either; those without magic worked just as hard and were rewarded as such as those with magic. It was perhaps his most difficult task. And it would all be for nothing. They needed to leave. They needed to move somewhere else. They weren’t strong enough militarily to defeat anyone. Magically they had more than a chance, but that would mean the other side getting hurt or killed. War tended to change the landscape. They needed somewhere new, somewhere fresh. Somewhere without a king to tell them that what they were doing was wrong. For a brief moment, he considered Amata, but that broken, dark land would never suit Morgana anymore, and for that, Merlin was grateful. His thoughts went to her, lying asleep in the beds they now shared. She was… stunning. Everything about her pulled at him. Her hair had returned to that lustrous shine, thick and curled as the women in the encampment had taken to one another with plant oils and earthy pastes, creating more beautiful versions of themselves with glee, much to the consternation of those like Merlin, who had always felt uncomfortable around beautiful women. Her thick locks pillowed about her head in the bright heat of the fire, while her skin had begun to show signs of darkening from the ever present sun. She was back to a much healthier weight, her body curved and supple, yet strong. She was no stick figure, but a full figured woman. As she had been when they first met. Merlin wondered at that, that a single smirk and the heat from her eyes would envelope him. Though seemingly more experienced than he in their lovemaking, Morgana was incredibly easy to please, he found. All he had to do was find fall deeper in love with her every day and she was happy. As was he, he admitted to himself with a grin. There was something luscious and overripe about her; that had him wanting to experience all that she thought to offer, and to give in return. He could feel his body reacting to the sight in front of him, that she was twisted just so in bed that her rear curved into the blankets and her hair was throne back, exposing her neck and décolletage. He cleared his throat and took another sip of the water beside him, resting on the sill. Hers was a magic of enticement, of enraptured scent and sight and feel that took his attention to heady heights. Such desire she made him feel, he thought. It was as though she reached into him and took him from where he was to where she wanted him, then enjoyed his being there as though it were his own gift. Morgana breathed deeply and smiled in her sleep.   
“I know you’re watching me, Merlin.” He smiled to himself and set the tankard down.   
“You say that as if I had a choice in the matter.” She sat up and brought the sheets with her, looking more demure and attractive than her nakedness did. That had been a surprise. While her nakedness for him was a sensual aphrodisiac, it was when she was modest and yet open to him that he found himself spinning and spiralling deeper and deeper. Morgana was beyond beautiful. She was breathtaking.   
“You’re staring.” A small quirk of his lips and he moved from the sill to the bed, lifting his top off and crawling to her. He kissed gently at her lips and then they were kissing, their lips pressed against one another urgently as though they were drowning in each other. Morgana moaned his name and then her skin was against his tongue and he could taste her. Her pulse hammered against his mouth as she pushed her neck into his mouth, her nails scraping across his back and her moan in his ear. They didn’t speak as their hands ran across one another, revelling in the simple touch of skin on skin between them. Merlin ripped away the sheet and she was against him, naked against his chest and her breasts against him. Her nipples moved across his own, both hardening slightly as he enveloped her in his embrace and twisted, pulling her down across his body as he lay on his back. Morgana arched up, pushing against him and feeling him rise up between them as she ground her hips down on him. She gasped as his hips rose, bucking between her legs and feeling him edge inside of her. Morgana held herself off him until his hips lowered, his burning abs pulsing beneath her, and then his hands were on her, urgently bringing her down onto him. She gave a very unladylike gasp, then smiled against him and brought him up, nuzzling him into her chest. Merlin moaned breathlessly as her hands raked through his hair, and his lips and teeth grazed across her nipples, licking and flicking as she brought herself down on him again. Rocking her hips against him, Morgana’s hands shook with the intensity and she clenched down on him, feeling herself tense up. Pressure built too quickly, but Merlin wouldn’t stop, rocking them both with his hands about her, and she didn’t want it to end so soon. Merlin was so close already, staring up at her and his blue eyes were drowning her, that she didn’t realise until he suddenly grabbed the sides of her head and crashed into her, kissing her with a passion that lost her concentration. The pressure exploded like a burst dam within her, sending heady waves across her senses and releasing wave after wave of light. The connection between them faltered as she closed her eyes and sucked hard on his bottom lip, even as he groaned beneath her and stilled. Morgana sighed as the warmth flowed up and over her body, feeling the sensations rolling like a river. Merlin grunted beneath her and she opened her eyes. His face was flushed and he was sweating, every muscle in his body clenching and straining. After a moment, she moved and he whimpered, bringing a light to her eyes as she controlled him. She felt him lessen inside of her slightly and cocked an eyebrow at him archly, to which he nodded. She moved against him again, laying him back down into the twisted sheets and blankets, her hands guiding his shoulders down as he lay straight beneath her. With him still inside of her, Morgana rocked her hips back and forth over him slowly, feeling a rhythm building up as he watched her. His eyes ran over her body to her hair, which she bunched up behind her head and let trickle through her fingers as she rocked back and forth on him slowly. She smiled to herself as his neck muscles began to strain again, outlining his flushed face and pursed lips. He was gasping for breath as she rode him, enjoying his tense shoulders and the feel of his fight for control. He was shaking his head and she leant down, kissing him deeply as she paused. Merlin grabbed the back of her head and pushed her down onto his lips passionately, tasting and drinking of her. They rolled over as she raked her teeth over her bottom lip and dared him with her eyes. Merlin gave a low growl of desperation and leant back, lifting her leg and spreading her wide as he moved forwards, her calf crooked behind his shoulder. Morgana felt the new depth of his thrust and gasp, her own control wavering as she could feel his entire body moving against her. So soon after her first, she was cresting another wave as his fingertips grazed over her nipples, and Morgana was falling through the air, rushing up to meet a warm darkness as Merlin gasped at her clenched heat and his body tensed, exploding deep within her. They stayed locked together until Merlin’s body betrayed him, the shake of his arms and that desperate whimper of the edge of control as he pulled out of her. Merlin settled down beside Morgana, who lay on her back still and lay the back of her hand against him, feeling the heat from his skin as he held her. She breathed open mouthed, gaining her breath back and gave a low laugh.   
“Really, staring, I thought was rude, but you know, it’s not that bad… who knew?” Merlin laughed against her and Morgana couldn’t stop the smile that grew suddenly at his happy eyes. The feelings they were both basking in were unlike any she’d ever felt. Though neither of them admitted it, both knew that this was something special. The minutes stretched out, and Merlin buried his face in her hair as she turned into his arms, snuggling in close and drawing him about her.   
“Tell me something real, about you. Who was the first girl you ever kissed?” He stilled for a moment and then with deliberate casualness, he shrugged his shoulders against her.   
“Depends on where you mean.” She laughed and looked up at him from against his chest and he stopped his smirk, staring at her. His eyes roved over her face, drinking her in, and not for the first time, Morgana was struck by how real his feelings were for her, and how he was deeply, truly hers. She was afraid that one day he’d wake up and remember all that she’d done, and that she’d lose that regard. It was a thought that terrified her more than she could admit aloud.  
“Will’s sister. Her name was Annabelle. She was two years older than me and Will. We were running around the stables, racing, and the loser had to kiss the first girl we saw that we weren’t related to. Will tripped, and when I went to help him up, he pulled me down to the ground and shot off. I lost the race, and we went back to my house, but Annabelle was there dropping off my mother’s laundry. She walked out and I grabbed her and kissed her. She was so stunned she slapped me, then kissed the cheek better and that was it. We never spoke of it again, Will and I.” He smiled at the memory of Will’s face, and Annabelle’s blush, nearly as dark as his own had been.   
“Do you know whatever happened to her?”  
“I do. She’s happily married to the butcher, three villages over, with so many children that last I’d heard she was starting with numbers.” Morgana began drawing circles on his chest with her fingernails as Merlin’s arms tightened around her shoulders. She leant in and kissed at the hollow of his throat, and Merlin followed suit with the dark silk of her hair.   
“What’s your first memory?” He smiled against her and gave a contained laugh, the air whooshing out of him as he rocked against her softly. Morgana closed her eyes, listening to his voice through his chest and running her fingers over him.   
“I remember moving my cot because the sun was in my eyes. I didn’t want to be there anymore, so I thought I’d move the world, but I think I just moved it across a few feet. Mother didn’t understand how it was possible until I did it again in front of her. That’s how she knew I had magic.”   
“Your first memory is of magic?” He nodded and dragged the tip of his nose across her forehead, urging her face up. She tilted up towards him and he smiled, almost bewildered. He was so in awe of her, it was almost reverential. But it certainly wasn’t altogether pure as he kissed her again, filling her with his need and his heat. Morgana smiled against his kisses and he against hers, until she pulled back and tapped him reproachfully on his playful lips.   
“Stop that. We’ll never get any sleep… What were you working on, the scrap of paper?” He took a deep breath, then grinned as all he could scent was them, and widened his eyes, blinking a few times to ward away the tiredness that closed about him like a thick cloak. His burning eyes regarded her and he gave her a crooked grin as she blushed at his continual regard.   
“It wasn’t what I was working on, it was what I was trying to distract myself with. Thinking about one thing constantly just gives me a headache. I was running it through the back of my mind, that’s all. Ostensibly I was trying to run the scenarios through my mind for Aithusa’s rescue. The things that could happen or turn out and how we could react to them. I was designing a system of hot water pipes to deal with all your baths to help keep me distracted.”  
“You don’t like it when I bathe?” She’d pulled him into the tub several times and chased him into the bed at least twice having gotten out of it to do so in the last few weeks. His cheeky smile told her that he was thinking about it, and didn’t mind in the least.  
“I don’t like the water we go through all the time. Magic is brilliant and amazing, but if we can save it for something worthwhile and accomplish a consistent…”  
“Worthwhile…?” she cut him off, arching an eyebrow at him. Merlin’s grin quickly covered her frown with a kiss and his low laugh against her throat at hot butterflies fluttering up her spine. They were never going to get any sleep.  
“I’d rather save my strength for after the bath than exhaust myself beforehand lugging wood up four flights of stairs, my lady.” She smiled at that and bit her bottom lip, then pushed him back when he took it as an invitation to kiss her again. Then she kissed him anyway.   
“Better. You were saying?” He lay back against the bed and Morgana lay along his body, feeling his fingertips swirling in her hair and sighing in happiness.   
“I guess I’m just thinking about what happens after. I’m thinking about a lot of different things,” he confided, as she laid her chin on his chest and stared up at him.   
“Like?” she asked, invitingly.  
“Like what happens next. Where we go from here. This is only going to get bigger, and soon we’ll fill the forest and we won’t be able to help everyone. We need somewhere.” Morgana stared at him for a moment before she rose off his chest and drew his attention with a tilt of her head.  
“What are you talking about, Merlin? Are you meaning Camelot? Arthur?” The last was incredulous, and Merlin shook his head slowly.   
“No, Morgana. I mean some place else. I think…” He faltered and then rushed ahead. “The Lands of the Fisher King. They’re where I think we should go.” Morgana lowered her chin at that and stared off into nowhere for a moment.  
“The Perilous Lands? Arthur told me that land was desolated. That it was a barren, cursed place. What makes you think we should go there?” Merlin felt himself forging ahead, given confidence for the moment in that she hadn’t scoffed at the idea but was willing to listen to him, to hear him out.   
“When the Fisher King died, the curse of the land died with him. It was left to simply grow. Much of it will still be barren, but I believe that it will be a fresh start, and because of its reputation, that there will be no one there. It’s large enough a realm that we could prosper there, grow as a people. An entire realm just waiting there, protected by superstition and distance. A fresh start, a fresh chance. But there’s only one way to find out. At the entrance guards a man named Grettir. He knows about magic and who has it. If we can speak to him, I’m sure he’ll tell us if it’s worthwhile. We just have to get there.” Morgana considered it for a long time, and when she looked back up again, Merlin had fallen asleep, his hand entwined in her hair. She rearranged herself to lie against him, and he kissed at the top of her head in his sleep and she smiled. Outside, the night was dark and cold, but not scary. The seer closed her eyes and did her best to clear her mind for sleep. Merlin breathed in deeply and sighed, warmth breathing over her hair, and she smiled tightly as his arms came around her.  
* * * * *  
“You’re insane.”  
“Am not. Why does everyone keep saying that?” Merlin frowned and scratched his head before narrowing his eyes at Trennen’s smirk. Fægernes crossed her arms and looked at him with something very close to exasperation.   
“Your plan, if you want to call it that, is to sneak into the Sarram’s former fortress, which is still being fought over by the remains of his men but also by several smaller groups of interested parties, making it a complete skirmish zone where anyone that doesn’t have the colours worn of your own party is instantly branded as an enemy. Once there, you plan to free a dragon from the most central and prized area in the entire castle, and ride off into the sunset with it?” Merlin opened his mouth several times, then rocked his hand back and forth uncertainly.   
“It’s not as plain cut as all that, but you get the general idea of it.”  
“You’re insane.” Merlin scoffed and then leant forwards to the Swordmaiden’s unimpressed form.   
“All I’m saying is, we have magic, it might not be a be all and end all, but we need to use it to our advantage…”  
“No, Mer…Myrddin, its not,” she cut him off, hesitating over his name for a split second, even as she shook her head. “The creature is being held in the throne room, but the factions are all vying for control over the keep. I can’t tell you one day to the next who is sits there or how well guarded it is. Not only that, but as for magic, there are factions trying to take it that use magic. Here, in Sigan’s Keep you’ve utilised magic for life, there are still those out there that utilise it for war. The other four kingdoms are looking to Amata with more than a curious eye. Even your precious Camelot pays good money for news. There are too many variables, and no way to gain information. You cannot save her, and risk all that you’ve built here in the process.” Merlin sat back, feeling and looking defeated. Scúr and Hèlend had come into camp as well, but had already slunk off to look around. Fægernes sat in front of him with a wrapped parcel beside. They looked the same, though if possible, Hèlend had lost more weight, from his thin, ferret like face. They had arrived with a half dozen other cloaked and hooded figures, who were about the camp, warming and feeding. Fægernes’ poked at the fire and stared into the coals. They were quiet for several minutes as she played with her white ponytail and they both looked into the flames for answers that weren’t there, though they did provide some inspiration, somehow.   
“Look, I know you’re not going to like this, Myrddin, but there’s a lot of power here. An option would be to find a magically friendly or apathetic party in their little scrabble and throw the weight of this guard of yours behind it. Any party would be glad of magic at it’s side, the more the better. We could find a party and do our best to put them on the throne of Amata, on the condition of the dragon’s release to you.”  
“Which would then put a conniving, dealing warlord on the throne of a people only recently liberated from one. The Sarram was a monster.”   
“Agreed. But this is the world in which we live, Myrddin. We’re gathered here for safety, this is not an army. The Knights of Tauren are strong and a power unequalled, but there are few enough of us. Those with magic are not all warriors.” Merlin looked down into his own hands, still newly calloused from the work atop the keep’s roof, building gardens and high pickets for the herbs he used. He was taken aback by Fægernes’ political acumen, but also glad of it. He had never been a politician, nor would he ever be. He was far too impassioned for that. Unsuited, to put it kindly. They sat in silence for several more minutes while the warmth of the day began to soak into them. Fægernes stretched tall, her breasts poking towards Merlin through her tight chain mail and corset, though he didn’t notice. A scant smile crossed the warrior sorceress’s lips.   
“Tell me, Myrddin, did you ever return to Camelot?” Merlin shook his head and leant on a fist as he stared deeper into the flames, thinking hard about how Arthur would have handled the situation. An impregnable castle with a noble goal. He would have been already on his horse, had it been anything but a dragon. Even then, perhaps. “A most interesting city. Did you know that the court physician, I don’t know his name, has fallen deathly ill? I wonder if they’ll find a replacement…?” Merlin’s head shot up and looked at her askance.  
“Gaius? What’s wrong, how long has he been ill? How serious is it?” Again came that small smile as she leant back, draping herself over the chair and eyeing him with a challenging smirk. The minute dragged on, as Merlin stared at her, then raised his hands helplessly. “Well?” he demanded.  
“His illness was probably more a suspicious headache. I exaggerated slightly, on account of pressing him so long for details of Morgana’s escape. You see, he also lost someone that day. His apprentice. A truly gifted boy, it seems, to have such a place in the old man’s heart. Knowing of his duties, I offered to keep an eye abroad for him in my travels. Imagine my astonishment, when he described a boy of taller than average height, with dark brown hair and cobalt blue eyes. Your cheekbones are quite distinct though, I must say, your distinguishing feature, in fact. So let us try again, Merlin, as to whom you have protected here? If I were to go up to your chambers, would I find myself your porcelain skinned, raven haired princess?” The last was hissed between her teeth as her dagger came out of her side sheath slightly, showing the metal. Merlin hung his head and nodded slowly.  
“No.” Momentary confusion showed on Fægernes’ handsomely regal features. “You’d find her on her hands and knees far above it, digging parsnips and turnips out of the garden for everyone’s stew tonight. Or possibly sitting with the old women, mending shirts and trousers worn thin in the cold by kneeling on the stone.” The warrior stared at Merlin and slid the dagger back in the sheath on her hip. “Wherever you find her, you will not harm her. Whatever has happened between you has happened. You cannot change that, nor atone for it. I will not let you harm her.” She tensed at the threat in his voice and incredulously watched him dust his thin hands off on his legs and stand up. With a wave of her hand, she bade him sit down again, then leant forwards towards him over the fire, her voice low.  
“I mean her no harm.” Merlin crooked an eyebrow at that, and she nodded, conceding his point. “Yes, she killed my father. But as you say, my father murdered and schemed on his way to the death of Uther Pendragon. It was his obsession, and it broke us, long ago. I’ve… We’ve done more in his name as the Knights of Tauren than he ever did alive. I honour his vision, not his methods. The ends, in this case, do not justify the means. As for Morgana…” She tilted her head and looked up at the keep, though Merlin knew that she could not see through it, despite her considerate gaze. “I have heard of her… ordeal, at the Sarram’s hands. He himself held the whip. I would not wish such a pain on anyone. To him, she was nothing more than birthed, and that was her crime. A crime I share. I have no quarrel with your lady.” Merlin nodded and reached across, grasping her hand in thanks. They shared that moment, Merlin recognizing the immense gift of her forgiveness, and Fægernes appreciating everything that Morgana had gone through. Merlin smiled at her. She smiled in return and let go, the flames popping between them.   
“Very well, Merlin. I stand by what I said about your rescuing of this young dragon. A political alliance is your best hope. There’s simply nothing you can do other than leave it to chance. People, any people at all on your force, are likely to die. You can’t ask them to risk their lives for you, when they’ve just gotten them back because of you. You ask too much, and risk too much, Merlin. There’s no way, even with magic, that you can attack swiftly enough while still maintaining the dragon’s safety.” Merlin smiled as the coals shifted, sending a blooming cloud of red sparks up into the air.   
“What if there was?”  
* * * * *  
Hèlend grunted as he pulled down the jars from the top shelf and looked into them, then took several pouches from his pack and laid them out meticulously. His usual demeanour of polite disinterest faded as he contentedly moved about, making notes from Merlin’s books and pottering about. Morgana watched him from her garden bed with some amusement and continued pulling the leeks out, replacing them as she could in the fresh soil and sprinkling the foul smelling fertilizer fluid over the fresh earth. It smelled of the fermenting seaweed it was made from, but it grew thick, strong plants that fed the whole community. The sunlight came down on her hard, but Morgana relished it, enjoying the feel of the burn in her arms and back, and the tingle of her burning neck. Already her fair skin was turning brown, though it had been over a matter of days. Her thin shirt was turned up high on her neck to hide the scars but her arms were bare, the skin having healed of it’s bruises long ago. Merlin’s teeth had marked her shoulder, but it was hidden by the thin material, and she smiled to herself at the thought. Almost as though he needed permission, when he truly lost himself in their lovemaking, all of his feelings and passion came forward, almost scary in its intensity, though Morgana knew he’d never hurt her. Not physically. Every day a worry worm burrowed deep into her fears and sat there, reminding her of everything she’d done and how Merlin was going to one day wake up to that fact and remember that she had done things she could never apologise enough for…  
Hèlend gave a delightful mutter and pottered over to her, a jar in his hand and his glass visor reflecting the sun almost directly into her eyes.   
“Bother, sorry,” he apologized, shifting them up his nose slightly more. Morgana gave him a smile and kept pulling the leeks. “Do you think your lord would mind terribly if I took some of his preserved althaeas leaf? I’ve never quite seen such a pure strain before. I’m sure I have something in my bag he might trade for?” Morgana brushed off her hands and stood up, her hair in a bun and her fingers caked in dirt.   
“My lord would love some more books if you’re finished with any?” The man with the ferret face considered that for some time as Morgana set her basket upside down into the wooden crate that would be lowered down the side of the castle, then went to a new patch, and knelt down, pulling carrots free and replacing them with the pouched tops at her side.   
“I’ve the Travels of Meredith of Mercia that I’ve already transcribed of what I feel I need. He’s welcome to that, if he doesn’t already have it?” Morgana nodded and gave him a smile, her face smudged with dirt and sweat.   
“I’m sure he’d appreciate that. Are you here in Sigan’s long? It seems you Knights are often away, or at least you three are.” Hèlend nodded, his long nose tapering off to a point that seemed to weigh his entire features down.  
“Yes, we tend to crisscross the land quite a bit. Our Swordmaiden is a rigorous taskmistress, however under her guidance, we’ve done quite well, I must say.” Morgana nodded again as he looked down into the courtyard. She followed his gaze and noticed the young woman lounging seductively in front of Merlin.   
“That’s her?” Hèlend seemed oblivious to her tone, but nodded enthusiastically.   
“Yes, that’s her. She’s really brought about a lot of changes to the order. Once, we were just a bunch of renegades with delusions of romantic banditry or revolution. Lady Fægernes brought us into something much more. She understood that it takes more than simply being able to swing a sword to make a Knight, and that we were going to make a better world. Magic is all around us, and we can each contribute in our own way and still remain quite different. Magic is nature, and nature is…”  
“Has she a man?” Hèlend stuttered off and frowned.  
“Ah… I’m not quite certain what… no, she doesn’t have time for that. Or if she does, he is somewhere apart, and not of any importance. Perhaps like the rest of us, she simply finds comfort where it is offered?” The last petered off as Merlin and Fægernes clasped hands. Morgana felt her face going red and her breath tightened in her throat. The basket at her side dropped, and she was walking down the steps to the spiralling stone square before Hèlend could comprehend what had happened. The thin man scratched at his nose thoughtfully.   
“Shall I just leave the Travels with Myrddin, or in his room perhaps…?” he called, but Morgana was already gone. She was down three flights of stairs before she knew it, and walking across the courtyard when she spotted three of the knights sparring. Though they wore their customary black hoods and cloaks, one of them was unmistakably built, a swagger about his steps as he danced around the others. There was something unpolished and rustic about his fighting style, and she stopped when he spun his sword around his opponents and whipped his elbow across the man’s chin, knocking him out and grabbing his sword. She’s seen it done before, but only by one man. She swallowed and steadied herself, then walked over calmly, smoothing her dress. The men stopped their sparring and bowed, the man with two swords dipping his head low in his hood so that she couldn’t see his face, but she didn’t need to.   
“Why are you here?” she asked. The figures paused, and the one with two swords stood still with his head low. The other raised his own, but Morgana didn’t know him. She waved him off with a hand and stood directly in front of the man with the two swords.   
“Travelling, milady. Travelling through s’all,” came the gravelly voice. Morgana steadied herself again and raised her head.   
“I don’t believe you, Gwaine.” The two swords stuck point first into the earth, and he flipped his hood up, revealing his trademark grin and beard. Arthur’s knight cocked his head and crossed his arms at her, challenging her.  
“Really, Lady Morgana, I’ve told you before, that people will begin to talk if we keep meeting like this…”  
* * * * *  
“It’s infected, but this will draw the infection out, okay? It’s going to sting for a little while, but it won’t be more than you can handle, okay? Tough girl like you probably won’t even notice it. Don’t pick at the bandage until tomorrow, then come and see me, and I’ll peel the leaves off and it will set you to rights, okay?” The small girl, Tunni, nodded wordlessly, her pale face still as she absorbed everything Merlin said. She was one of the precocious children that come along with the wedded families the month before. She had wide, serious eyes that studied everything around her, and she was mostly silent. She spent many mornings in Merlin’s office staring at some of the pictures in his books, and had her favourite scrolls to stare at as well, both on Kilgarrah’s father, with illustrations.   
“Thank you, my lord,” offered her older sister gratefully. She stepped up to her sister’s side and bent over low. Merlin began to wonder if there was a back issue with the women in the camp, they all seemed to be bending down constantly. There could have been something in the water, he supposed. The weather was moving onto summer, though slowly, as many of the younger girls had shifted to wearing their lighter tops. On several occasions, Merlin had wondered if the seamstress was up to something, as well, for many of the tops were much lower than the simple, modest clothing that the ladies of Camelot had favoured.   
“All done?” Fægernes’ voice floated over to him and he turned, with a slight touch from Tunni’s hand on his, he rose up and thanked her sister, who looked crestfallen and then smiled and curtsied, trying to lock eyes with Merlin, who had already turned away. Fægernes gave a soft laugh and leant back against the well, where Merlin usually tended those that needed it. She ran her hands through her hair and stretched again, this time with one leg cocked up behind her against the stone. Her mail sparkled in the sun, and Merlin gave her a polite smile. Again came that knowing smile and laugh, and she shook her head.   
“You’re completely oblivious, aren’t you?”   
“To what?”  
“Not what, Merlin, to whom…”  
“Who am I meant to be paying attention to?” She laughed then, shrugging to herself and laughing again as Merlin stared at her, uncomprehending smile plastered on his face.   
“No-one else, I imagine. I bought your request, but didn’t have time to give it to you earlier. You’re going to need it, I think. The crystals will focus the magic, and the daggers have a core of lightwood in the middle, which will channel energy. They’re real prim and proper clothes, these, Merlin. I hope they help you. It’s the best I can do, unless you can think of anything else you’d like my hand in?” Merlin shook his head and took the bundle.   
“Nope, that’s good, thanks. Any word from your man at Amata?” Again came that knowing smirk and she marvelled at him for another moment.   
“I’ve never known a single man to be so… Anyway,” she shook her head, and rearranged her clothing. “Who will you leave in charge while you’re away?”   
“Morgana,” he intoned slowly, as if the idea was obvious. Then he grimaced. “Will probably insist on coming with. If you’re not averse, Trennen would do well here for us. And his wife is with child, so staying on to govern would not be a horrid idea.” Fægernes nodded, silently giving her blessing.   
“If you didn’t expect her to come along, I doubt you would have commissioned the clothes that you did. When do you leave to speak to… him?” Her last word was soft and reverent, and Merlin took a considerate pause and looked up at the sky.   
“Tomorrow, I think. Best find out if he’s willing to help.” She bowed low, and again came Merlin’s suspicion of something wrong with the water.   
“You have my thoughts of you, Merlin. I wish you every success.” He inclined his head and caught her smile as she looked over his shoulder at the courtyard, where she could see Morgana talking to one of her knights, obviously unhappy with the man’s presence. She ghosted a smile and then threw a casual hand towards them.   
“Looks like Gerrit is making friends with your sorceress. He’s a charmer that one, I’d have set my cap for him were he not one of my knights. We picked him up just outside of Camelot, he’s been a very good blade, though his magic is weak.” Merlin stood up abruptly, staring behind them. His cheeks flushed red and he quickly said his goodbyes and began walking towards the pair. Fægernes gave a soft laugh and pulled the bucket of water over to her, taking a sip from the ladle as she watched the show with good natured amusement. Gerrit was leering towards Morgana, and Merlin’s face was getting redder by the minute. For a moment, she felt horrible, but then the look of fear on Morgana’s face was just enough to dull it.   
* * * * *  
His brown hair was somehow still perfect across his eyes, and he looked at her as though she were a common wench, challenging her eyes with his own, and almost, but not quite, winking at her. Morgana rose her chin and crossed her arms in front of her as he deliberately dropped his gaze, trying to put her off. It was all a show, of course. Gwaine would no sooner bed her than he would Merlin or Arthur, but it was always successful in throwing her off. Morgana clenched her knuckles into fists, and they cracked, ending the stillness between them.  
“I asked what you’re doing here, Gwaine.” His eyes came back up and he tilted his head.  
“I missed Merlin.” She stood for a long time, a thousand thoughts going through her head.   
“Leave us alone. Just get out of here.” Of all he’d been expecting, that was certainly not it. He frowned and the teasing light left his eyes, instantly replaced by an assessing look that once again caused her to re-evaluate him in her estimation. He was always surprising her, not only with his resistance, but also his capabilities.   
“I mean it, Gwaine, just go.”   
“How is he?” She looked away first, tired already of his judgement.  
“He’s Merlin. He’ll never change.”   
“Before he told Arthur to shove it for being a politician, I would have agreed with you. But he’s not very Merlin now, is he?” She stayed still.  
“Just leave, Gwaine. Please.” The knight stepped back in surprise at the tone, her pleading that he leave. It seemed shocking that the Morgana that had once taken such pleasure in torturing him was the same one in front of him, uncomfortable in his presence and seemingly afraid of what he would do. Or say, he suddenly realised. She didn’t want to kill him. She wanted him gone. He narrowed his eyes as she suddenly looked fearful, and tilted his head to the side, seeing a familiar figure striding towards them with steps that could almost be called thunderous. There was a very hot anger about him, and incredulously, Morgana flinched in fear again.   
“Morgana? Are you alright?” The concern he showed her instantly dropped her gaze further, racking her with guilt. Gwaine turned in surprise to Merlin, who had eyes only for the former king’s ward as he strode up to her, his arms reaching forwards to hold her.  
“Nothing a night with Camelot’s most eligible bachelor wouldn’t fix, I’d wager.” Gwaine grinned as Merlin stumbled and then whipped around, a sudden smile lighting his face as he recognized Gwaine’s voice.   
“Gwaine!” he guffawed, hugging his friend and slapping him on the back. Gwaine noticed with still more surprise that Merlin’s shoulders had bulked, and he now had weight to his hold. Morgana looked down to the earth again and backed away, smoothing her dress and then holding her hands in front of her demurely as she looked at Merlin. The sorcerer slapped Gwaine on the back again and held him arms length, his smile growing huge and then hugged him again. His obvious happiness pleased Gwaine greater than he could have thought. He had indeed missed his friend.   
“You look well, Merlin, life’s treating you right it seems, now that you’re not chasing after Arthur like a well trained wolfhound.” Merlin rolled his eyes and nodded.  
“And you, Gwaine, you look well. What are you doing here?” He looked back at Morgana, who wouldn’t meet his eyes and then frowned slightly.   
“I’m here because Arthur is going bananas seeing as his kingdom is emptying. They’ve lost nearly a fifth of the population in previous weeks. A lot of them seem to have ended up here or on the way to here. So I joined up the caravan just outside of Camelot and here I am, handsome as hell and looking at my friend.” His gaze shifted to Morgana, who was still and regal, the only sign of her discomfort was her ringing hands. Merlin stepped back from him and stood in front of Morgana.   
“We’re fine here, Gwaine, no threat to Camelot. Are you going to try and execute us because we have magic?” He didn’t move for a long time, and Morgana leant forwards, her hands spreading across Merlin’s shoulder blades as she rested her forehead on the centre of his back. “I won’t hurt you, my friend. But I won’t let you hurt others here that have every right to breathe the same air you do either.” Gwaine gave a low laugh and nodded, his lips pursed into a smile.  
“Alright, tough-guy. No need for threats. What are you doing here, Merlin?”   
“We’re building something. A community of those with magic that just want to live. That are tired of fighting. Those that either can’t defend themselves or won’t, because they know that it would reveal having magic and it’s still outlawed. Despite everything, Arthur has still left that law intact.” Gwaine nodded slowly.  
“You should know, Merlin, I never cared about magic. I follow Arthur for the same reasons you did. Because of who he is. You should come see him. I know he’d not act on the law for your sake.”   
“It doesn’t matter if he acts on it. Until he repeals it, his entire realm must hate us for what we were simply born into that they were not.” Gwaine nodded, slowly again.   
“A fair point,” he conceded. “But you should know that you can’t keep this place secret forever, Merlin. Sooner or later, you’re going to get too big for your britches here. There are many enemies of Camelot in these ruins.”  
“And a great deal many of them only enemies because that’s what Camelot has made of them.” Merlin countered. Again, Gwaine nodded considerately.   
“Alright Merlin,” he offered. “I can see you’re set in your mind. But what about Arthur? You always believed in him. What changed?” Again his eyes moved over Merlin’s shoulder to where he could see the tips of Morgana’s fingers. Merlin stiffened and stood up straighter, letting Gwaine know without words that he was walking a dangerous line. He reached behind him, his hands holding on to Morgana’s waist until she dropped her hands and held his.  
“I did, Gwaine. He’s a good man. He’s just not who I needed him to be as a good king.” Gwaine bowed low and swept the cloak behind him with a flourish.   
“Then I’ll head back and tell the Camelot King that his friend is… what?”   
“Always his friend. And I will await the day I can walk in Camelot and serve my king with all my capabilities. In this life, or the next.” Morgana clenched his fingers in her hands as Gwaine walked outside and mounted a spare horse. With a raised arm, he rode out of Sigan’s Retreat and back towards Camelot. Merlin turned around, but Morgana was already moving, her back stiff and upright as he called out to her. She didn’t answer. Merlin sighed deeply and looked up at the setting sun. He had a lot to do before tomorrow. He would be sleeping, but instead, he knew he would have to work through the night, binding spells to the clothes that Fægernes had made for him. Again his eyes followed Morgana. If only he had time, he mused.   
* * * * *  
“Aithusa needs our help.” Merlin didn’t get a response, but he could see that his words had struck a deep chord. “I have a plan. It only involves you and I. If you say no, on account of the danger, I will understand. I won’t command you. You have my word on that. But if you don’t help me, then Aithusa may die, and I cannot help her. I am asking that you help me be a true Dragonlord, not just a…”  
“Yes, Merlin, I understand.” Kilgarrah breathed deeply, his golden scales shifting in the midnight moon. He sparkled, but not with a shine, more with the morning dew that settled about him, casting his golden scales almost silver in the moonlight. He was not young anymore, was not even old but ancient. He stared at Merlin and then sighed and dropped down to his haunches. He was obviously hurting from their last speech, and Merlin had no blame for him. Kilgarrah had pinned all of his hopes on Merlin and Arthur, guiding and moving Merlin as Merlin did the same to Arthur. To have that not come to fruition pained the Great Dragon greatly.   
“Will you help me?” He stayed still for a long time, staring at Merlin with his golden eyes. Merlin stood straight and tall under the Great Dragon’s gaze. Finally, he lowered his reptilian head and sighed deeply.   
“I cannot abandon the last of my kind, though she has barely grown beyond her changing. She is no longer a whelp, but a true dragon now. I have heard her cries in my dreams, and often wondered where they came from. I will help you.” Merlin bowed low to him then, in thanks and reached out. The Great Dragon shifted back to avoid the touch and Merlin closed his hand and brought it back to his side.  
“Kilgarrah…”  
“No, Merlin. At every turn, you have resisted and thought you knew better than I. And for that to be proven right is almost more than I can bare. I am Drakon, Kilgarrah Wrath, Greatest and Last of my kind, the Great Dragons. My kin were old when the stars were still young. I have more knowledge within me than every scroll ever inked, Merlin, and yet you have proven wiser than I. This is not an easy wound to heal. Pride is a wound many a dragon could not have overcome.” Merlin stepped forward and put his hands on the Great Dragon’s chest, before the creature could move away. In that touch, he shared his pain, and his love, with the great beast. Above all, the happiness that Morgana had given him showed through in a haze of pale jade. Kilgarrah cleared his great throat and lowered his head, nestling it into Merlin’s back and giving a deep rumble of feeling.   
“I’m sorry,” offered Merlin. “I’m sorry I failed you.”   
“Oh, Merlin, you and I have failed one another. You reminded me what it is to be infuriatingly, wonderfully human, stubborn and strong, and that this is no horrid trait. I am a part of this world just as you are a part of mine. It has taken your great heart to show me this. For even as I am old, so too are my opinions. Your soul and the W… Morgana’s are now one, Merlin. I thought this an abomination, but perhaps you will show me that even a dragon’s wrongs can be righted.” Merlin gave a laugh.  
“That’s great. Everything’s just great.” The Great Dragon raised his head back and snorted.   
“As you say. Wonderful. Also, I have spoken to Grettir. He informed me that you had written to him, and that the raven had reached him. He believes that you have the right of it, and that the land is even now beginning to recover. His task as the gatekeeper would be better suited if you would assist him in changing his role, however. He said he would speak to you of this later, when next you met, to see if you agreed. Now, as to your other summons…”  
* * * * *   
Morgana sat at her desk, opposite Merlin’s, looking into the mirror that showed her tired reflection. Her brush moved through her hair and she closed her eyes. She’d already bathed and cleaned. Her skin showed the pink of her exposure to the sun, against the white of her skin. Her hair was up, caught at the nape of her neck. Merlin had disappeared when she’d fled inside, feeling his eyes on her, not quite judging, but still so wise and knowing. She closed her eyes and felt the pain deep in her chest. The vision of the woman, Fægernes, swam in front of her minds eye. Thick, white hair and strong, regal features like a warrior goddess. She was a leader, with piercing grey eyes and muscular thighs, ready to battle or bring about a strong spell with no warning needed for either. She had offered herself to Merlin, she knew, and he hadn’t rebuffed her. He had reached out to her, after she had lay back as though some slave girl offering herself to her master. Morgana’s lip twisted into a sneer before she gave a low breath out, trying to calm her nerves. Merlin had said he had somewhere to go, and he’d gone. She didn’t know if it was with Fægernes or not, but she couldn’t get the image out of her head. Fægernes in her armour with her sword, standing back to back with Merlin while they forged a new destiny. It wasn’t a vision, she knew, but a jealous thought. Her knuckles turned white, then grey as she breathed deeply. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected this, she thought. Merlin and she hadn’t committed to one another, nothing had been spoken, or agreed upon. She had no right to him other than she’d taken him to her bed. He was Emrys, the Destiny of the Druids, and a Dragonlord. She was just a seer, and she was scarred and broken. Everything she’d ever done kept crashing down on her. Every person she’d hurt. She knew now that she was feeling these things because Merlin had given her back the warmth of her soul, so she was forced to look at everything she’d done and face it squarely.   
The sound of the door jolted her pain back, and she looked up, seeing Merlin’s tired face searching for her. When their eyes locked, he smiled, so loving and tender that she felt tears beginning. She set the brush down as he came to stand at her back, his hand behind his back. Already she could smell the rose, though it held a strange, foreign scent. He smiled down at her, not kissing her, but obviously wanting to, and leant down to her, sliding the rose beside the hairbrush and kissing her softly on the temple. They didn’t say anything as she picked the rose up. It was a softly glowing pale green, so close to white, but with deep veins of darker green flowing through the petals. Her fingertips tingled as she touched it, and she could feel the magic of it deep within, although she didn’t know what it signified. Merlin had picked off the thorns, she noted. As he took his top off and began to wash, Morgana reached up to touch where he’d kissed her, then sniffed the rose, inhaling the scented pale petals’ deep fragrance.   
“She’s very beautiful.” Merlin looked up, his expression confused and wary even as the water dripped down his cheekbones towards his mouth.   
“Who?”  
“Fægernes.” The word was almost, but not quite, said plainly. Hurt showed in her stance, even as she touched the rose to the side of her cheek and closed her eyes. Merlin found himself staring. There was low candlelight in the background, the soft yellow light casting a light of warmth over her. Her soft hair was dark and beckoned him, begging him to touch and to bury his face in it and simply breathe her in. Her eyes, however much he loved to stare at them, were closed as the rose rested against her. She was heartbreakingly beautiful. Such softness through the steel of her bearing. Merlin found himself lost in her, trying to reach out to her, trying to think, and finding himself enchanted. She was an ethereal being in the candlelight, as though every passion, both love and lust that he’d ever had were in one being, demanding to know everything about him.   
“Yeah.” She stiffened and her head lowered. “That’s what it means, so I suppose you’re right.” His voice sounded silly and he shook himself. “I’m sorry. You’re… What did you mean?” He coughed, clearing his throat and shook himself again. He had seen her naked. He wasn’t supposed to be so easily spellbound by her. But then again, he smiled to himself ruefully, he didn’t really mind. His smile grew as he stared, finding all the things about her that he loved. Her hair, her fingers, the crook of her shoulder and neck where she was most ticklish. The sound of her laugh, and the scent of her hair. His foolish grin was wide and he bit his bottom lip, feeling his cheeks hurt. Morgana opened her eyes and lifted her shoulder, burying her smile in it.   
“Why are you looking at me like that?” His smile broadened and he walked over to her, still dripping water. His leather breaches hung low on his hips and she turned in her seat, looking up at him. He sat down beside her on her bench and leant in close.   
“Because I’m amazed that you see me. I wish I was a painter, or a sculptor, so I could show you what I see when I look at you.” Morgana gave a sob and felt the tears coming irrationally. Merlin’s face fell in sudden concern and he reached for her, holding her. His erstwhile face stared into hers in confusion.  
“I’m broken, Merlin. I’m not what I once was. I can’t help feeling this. You make me feel this, all this, and I don’t understand. I used to be strong, and you make me weak. But I’m better now, prouder of who I am and happy to be so, I’m more fulfilled and I don’t…” Her words tumbled out over one another and Merlin rocked her in his arms and hushed her soundlessly, caringly.   
“I used to make the realm tremble in fear, and now I’m feeling it, every single time I close my eyes I feel like I’m being judged. I can’t shake that feeling, Merlin. And to see her with you…”  
“What?!” he cut her off, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.” Morgana’s eyes glowed for a moment before she got herself under control.  
“I know perfectly well that I’m not acting seriously, Merlin, I don’t need you to tell me. Just be honest, are you attracted to her?” Merlin, to his credit, considered it. And shook his head simply, shrugging his shoulders against her as she stared at him, so close that she could feel his heartbeat in the silence between them.  
“I can’t be.” He said it so simply and honestly that it threw her somewhat.   
“She’s beautiful, and strong and a leader and a powerful sorceress, Merlin, of course you could be attracted to her.” He thought longer about this, a frown on his face, then smiled cheekily and lowered his head, catching her with his eyes in a soft rebuke. He was about to tell her off and remind her that she was being silly, she knew. She took a breath to snarl back at him.  
“She’s not you.” Damn him. That smile, she thought, as he gave it, knowing that it would affect her.   
“Is it really so simple, Merlin?” The smile faded and he nodded at her in a very serious way that had her heart skipping beats and her stomach doing back flips.   
“Yes, Morgana, it really is. I’m yours. You completely and totally captivate me. You see me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”  
“Stop talking like that.” She turned from him, determined to stay mad at him, despite the rose and the words. He hadn’t even come in to apologise, he was just doing it because he was sweet, she fumed. She wanted a real apology. Even if she had just blown things out of proportion; that made it worse, now she wanted him to want to apologise.   
“You’re right. I should just stop talking.” He picked her up then and she gasped at the shock of it, then clung to him as he took her to the bed. He laid her down and moved his hands across her body, taking her out of her night gown with his thin, long fingers that showed surprising strength across her body. Morgana lay back and let him, arching an eyebrow at him silently as he moved across her front, touching his lips to her nipples and the sides of her breasts before moving to the hollow of her throat. He still had his pants on, but reached up, cupping her neck and kissing her fully, his fingers reaching for her temples and massaging as his lips caressed hers. Morgana breathed in deeply, rolling her head back into him loosely, moaning softly with such deep pleasure. His lips touched at hers and she turned to him, but he pushed her down gently, keeping her there. He rolled her over onto her back and brought the rugs up to cover her rear, though his fingers lingered on her hips, dancing on the bones and caressing the swell of her rear. He disappeared for a moment, reappearing with the rose and his mortar and pestle. He began to grind the petals in as she stared at him, chanting softly and pouring oil from several different droppers in, until with a sudden glow of his eyes, the sturdy bowl glowed with that same unearthly green colour of the rose and then died. Merlin swayed and took a steadying breath before scooping the mixture out and spreading across Morgana’s back. She flinched against the expected cold, but the mixture’s warmth spread over her. Merlin’s fingers pressed deep into her back and she moaned a little at the pressure. Merlin murmured apologetically but kept up the pressure. She could feel the paste moving across her scars and drew in to herself, feeling exposed and naked. Her arms curved in to cover the swell of her breasts and she made herself smaller on the bed, feeling vulnerable in a way she never had before as Merlin focussed his trailing fingers on her scars and the lumps of flesh that she had hidden from everyone else. Her back began to tingle and then he was digging his fingers in, as though he were pushing through her. There was little pain, but Merlin reached down into her and touched her, pushing his strength against her and telling her it would all be okay. His warmth and soul touched her, his deep feeling encompassing her, as she began to sob, drowning. After some time, the massaging slowed, moving circles smoothly across her back. Merlin leant down and trailed soft but deliberate kisses down her spine. Her smooth skin. Morgana surged up and turned around, trying desperately to see her scarred body, but Merlin, tired and drained, smiled wanly and pointed to the mirror. She moved off the bed, covering her front with the bearskin rug and staring as she turned. Smooth and white, her back looked like a treated canvas for all of its smoothness. On the bed, Merlin frowned.   
“Morgana. I want you to know that I didn’t care either way. But if this is what it takes for you to believe me when I tell you that you’re beautiful, then this is what it takes.” She didn’t turn from the mirror, still staring and not believing.   
“Is it an illusion?” Merlin shook his head and lay back along the bed, slowly sinking into exhausted sleep. He beckoned her and she came back to him, tears in her eyes.   
“No, it’s gone, renewed. It was the last Aloe Rose Kilgarrah knew of, but you’re worth that. You’re worth anything to me.” He reached for her and she was in the bed, cradling him in her arms with a fierceness that roused him momentarily enough to reassure her with a kiss on her nose and then his arms encircled her. “It’s because loving you, whether you believe me or not, is the easiest, simplest thing in my whole life.”  
* * * * *   
She woke before him, which showed the strength of the spell he’d performed last night. She rarely woke before him, and then, as now, she was so sorely tempted to stay in his arms and simply be with him. But this morning, she decided she wanted to do something special. This morning, she wanted more to be there for him. She eased out of bed, though unable to resist a quick kiss to the back of his shoulder. He murmured her name deep in his sleep and buried his face in her pillow, smiling. Morgana felt a happiness bubbling up at his cuteness and couldn’t stop the smile, even as she moved to discard his shirt which she’d slipped into in the middle of the night. She quickly washed in the ice cold water by the mirror, feeling the new day waking up around them. Her back showed the smoothness it had once held, with no scars showing at all, not even the pink of new skin, but her regular porcelain tone. No one was down in the courtyard as yet, so she stretched in the sunlight from the eastern window and took some of the scented oils along the wall and dabbed them behind her ears, then along her shoulder bones. Satisfied, she took one of Merlin’s shirts and pulled on a pair of her thick casing pants. The pockets along the material were empty of the herbs she normally filled them with, so she pulled on her boots, then sat in front of the mirror. She coaled her eyes delicately, then pulled her hair up into a bun, showing off her shoulders and framing her face with fallen ringlets. Once she was done, she plumped her lips, Merlin’s shirt falling off her shoulder as the thick red paste smeared evenly across, outlining her perfectly. She went down to the kitchens and met with several others, catching knowing glances from some of the other women as she heaped enough of the smoked ham that Merlin favoured along with some meat and baked bread and cheese onto a spare platter, finishing it with some of the cherries that Merlin had insisted be grown. Her soft smile at them all was brought with laughter that reddened her cheeks and the winks from the women made her feel no longer as if she were the Lady of the Keep, but one of them. In a strange way, it made her feel better. She turned, flashing them a grin over her shoulder as she left, and returned to their rooms. As she quietly entered, she could here Merlin sleepily rolling over, patting the bed in his sleep, searching for her. When he couldn’t find her, his head raised off the pillow, hair pushed to one side in sleep, and drowsily frowned. The look on his face brought an unbidden laugh to her, and she shone at him as he woke up slowly.   
“I’ll get your breakfast,” he offered confusedly, staring out at the new sun. Morgana silently offered him the plate and his eyes, bleary from sleep, blinked rapidly as he tried to focus. He frowned again and a small voice in the back of her head offered that she should try and make more of an effort in the mornings, as he was so thrown when she cared for him at the beginning of the day. They ate in silence, Merlin still naked from the waist down, and she dressed, tucking her knees up under her chin comfortably. His eyes get going over her and Morgana began to feel that light, silly happiness coming to her again, threatening her calm.   
“Merlin, stop it,” she teased, reaching out and pushing his shoulder so he rocked back away from her.  
“Uh-huh,” he monotoned, his eyes continuing to rove over her body. A ghost of a smile played about his lips, and Morgana felt herself smiling again.  
“I mean it, stop it. What’s in that package?”  
“Uh-huh,” came his same toned response, even as the smile tugged at the edge of his dimple. Then he smiled and leant over, affording her a view of the muscles playing across the length of his ribs and across his abs as he twisted. The flutter that his eyes had roused became a burning heat. She shifted in her pose and crossed her legs beneath her. Merlin turned back around and sat the wrapped parcel in front of her with a flourish as he poured two tankards of cold water. Morgana opened the packets gently, folding the square of cloth open and staring at the contents. It was clothing of some sort, stained blue. There were slight pieces of armour to it, and chain mail heat stained to a rich blue. And green below it. She spread them out over the bed. Two complete new outfits, clearly meant for magic warfare. The sleeves were full length but sliced to the forearm, freeing the hands to spell gestures. The crystals glowed in the gauntlets, as did the strange gloves, which housed crystals that when the gloves were worn, would rest across the palm and trace along the fingers like lines drawn down. There were two daggers as well, and sheathes. The daggers had wooden handles, and what looked to be slivers of sharpened metal over the wooden blades to give them sharper edges. She looked up at him as a sudden ridiculous thought crossed her mind.   
“You got us matching outfits?” He took a breath to dismiss what she’d said, then thought about it some more and grinned ruefully.  
“I suppose I did, but its more because it worked than so we could wear matching outfits…” He scoffed slightly, his face reddening until she gave off peal after peal of her rich, fond laugh. She reached out and caressed his face tenderly, and he kissed the bottom of her wrist.   
“Okay Merlin. What are they for?”  
“We’re going to free Aithusa. Tomorrow. We travel to Amata Castle tonight.” She nodded slowly, trusting in his planning and feeling the energy beginning to burn her insides at the thought of releasing her true strength of magic after so long.   
“Alright, Merlin. Let’s go free my dragon.”   
* * * * *   
The castle smoked still, showing recent signs of conflict like blood still sitting in pools below the walls, and tar still smeared over the stone. There were three obvious camps there at the once, Morgana noted, two of which shared distinct different banners, while the third was a mix of banners and sigils. Some of them were even familiar. They had waited on this outcrop for the whole day, watching the battle they had come across midmorning. Her and Merlin had made excellent time travelling through the countryside, sparing the horses by changing to their third every few hours. He was even now taking note of the tents and where they were. Though neither admitted it, the situation would have been better had Arthur been there; his tactical knowledge supplementing them perfectly. But he was not, and so it fell to them. As the afternoon wore on, Merlin pointed out that the third, mixed encampment was nearly empty, only a single guard could be seen, though there was a great deal of sound. They moved around behind it, seeing many servants beating clothing and hitting pots and pans. Merlin frowned, but Morgana nodded, pointing to the side of the castle, where she could see a small group of warriors trailing into it from the bottom. He nodded and they picketed the horses far away from the camps, who thankfully were concentrating on one another, resupplying and waiting for their next opportunity. The mixed camp emptied another group of men into the side of the castle unnoticed, even as the stores became nothing more than a group of empty barrels. Finally, the last of them made a run for the side of the castle. Horns sounded from the other two camps, who rushed in, leading to a pitched battle on the grounds of the mixed camp between the two signed camps. Merlin gave a soft, admiring laugh.   
“Clever. They’ve drawn the others off while they fill the keep. Now they have the stronghold to conquer. Should we wait, do you think, or strike now, in the chaos?” Morgana pondered that for a moment.  
“We’ve waiting long enough. Aithusa has waited long enough.” He nodded and reached out. She took his hand and they moved to the opposite side of the castle, utilising a spell to make them as light as air and floating up onto the parapet. Cancelling the spell, Morgana stepped forwards, her sword out and dagger free, turned away the attack of the surprised guard and knocking him out with the crosspiece of her sword. Quickly, they made their way into the keep and began sneaking from corridor to corridor, moving down towards the greater halls. Merlin again covered them in his magic, removing them from sight as they dashed across the courtyard to the main steps. Their muffled steps moved past the guards, who looked more like leather clad thugs than knights or soldiers. The ragtag guards weren’t paying much attention to the invisible scuffles, more interested in the goings on at their former camp, as they watched to see who survived out of the two other banners. Merlin and Morgana hid in an alcove just inside the door as the spell broke, pressing close to one another and breathing shallowly from the running. Morgana couldn’t help the smile at the excitement, even as Merlin grinned at her and pressed up against her, kissing her soundly. A pair of guards moved passed them and had them separated, even as Morgana shook her head over her smile. Merlin shrugged and recast the spell, dousing them in a haze and darting off. Their soft leather boots made no sound as they quickly moved, heels up across the corridor, and entering in through the luckily cracked open doors.   
The throne room as massive, though the tattered banners before them showed no sign of who the mixed camp were. The skirted the edge, urgency in their steps but knowing they were surrounded by people. Morgana was halfway down the throne room, with Merlin by her side when Aithusa suddenly mewled and stood up, a crinkling of the heavy chains that surrounded her breaking the silence. She searched for and found Morgana despite the invisibility, then her excitement doubled when she saw Merlin. Both of the sorcerers silently shushed her, but the poor young dragon was too excited to see them. She was shaking and straining, and Morgana began to cry at the wretched state of her.   
“It’s alright. The dragon has already let me know you’re here. Reveal yourself.” The thugs turned in confusion at the calm, confident young voice from the throne. Merlin and Morgana did likewise, as the hooded figure threw his hood back and stood up, moving towards the dragon and stroking her head. She showed her fear of him in her flinch, and Merlin banished the invisibility with a motion, throwing out his hand and cracking the collars off her. The chains crashed to the ground and the figure nodded in his deep cowl, as Aithusa leapt over to them, and the thugs moved back, facing off against them. The figure in the cowl moved forwards unafraid and stood at the forefront of his men. Merlin faced off against him even as Morgana checked Aithusa over for wounds. Bound and broken, her wings and spine were twisted from so long in the hole that had claimed both her and Morgana. Tears came again, even as she held the young dragon’s neck and crooned softly to her. Merlin glared at the figure in the hood, who held the men back with a single hand, then reached up and took the hood off. The young man wore a hurt expression, burdened by a huge pain that had wounded him as surely as the walls of Morgana’s prison had hurt Aithusa. But both Morgana and Merlin would remember his eyes until life left them.  
“It’s been a lifetime, Emrys. Morgana.” Mordred gave a mocking half bow in greeting and turned to gesture at the throne room. “Welcome to my new realm.”  
“Mordred…?” Morgana moved forward and embraced him, though Merlin kept his distance. “What happened, what are you doing here?” Mordred moved back away from her and sat back on his throne, gesturing to the men around him.   
“These are the warriors of the new age, Morgana. Arthur,” he spat, venom and hate dripping from the word as though it were a curse. “Arthur has transgressed and these free druids and men of magic will be the ones to change destiny. With Arthur’s death, I will become the Once and Future King and bring magic back to all of Albion. Starting with Camelot.” Morgana looked back at Merlin, whose stern features regarded the grown boy with wary consideration.   
“That’s not the way it works, Mordred.” He was off his throne in a heartbeat, a wild light of anger in his eyes.  
“What would you know of it, Emrys,” he demanded. “You’ve sat at the Wounded King’s side and judged those who would be free as if they were traitors. Your inaction betrays you. You don’t seek any peace for those with magic, you seek our subjugation!” He gripped the sword at his side in anger, and Merlin lifted his chin.   
“You’re going to ensure its extinction, Mordred. You’ll war with Arthur and neither of you will get what you want from it.” Morgana touched his hand and he gripped her fingers, taking strength from her. Mordred’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head, disgust curling his lip.   
“So wise, Emrys, when you would do nothing to help your own kin. You’ve taken the weakling’s path, Merlin, you always did, hiding and manipulating when you should have been ruling and forcing. Arthur respects only his enemies.” Merlin hung his head and Mordred snorted in derision.  
“So you know this to be true, and even now you do nothing. Look at you. The two of you, the Dragonlord and the Seer, both nothing more than pathetic shadows of who you once were. Join me!” he sudden crowed, the manic light in his eyes bringing the reality of his madness crashing about Morgana’s breaking heart.   
“Mordred, what happened to you?” He turned his eyes on her and his sudden elation fell like a discarded cloak.   
“He killed Kara.” She shook her head, not understanding, and the young man again gripped the sword at his side. “You should have known her. She was a light. Passionate and strong. She was a fighter until the last moment, holding to the truth. I… I joined Camelot’s knights, hoping to see the good that you had always seen in Camelot. Doing good for Arthur, I let Kara go, knowing that she was simply hungry and had come to Camelot for… He killed her. She defied him, staying true to herself, and showing me that I should have done the same. I’ll never forgive myself for being as weak as you, Merlin. She died because I believed in Arthur. I never believed that he would be so cruel as to kill her. I could have… I will make him pay for his fears.” His armoured fist was opening and closing on the hilt of his sword in his anger, and Merlin accepted his hatred. Morgana did not.  
“You used to be so different, what happened to the little boy that held my hand and asked for my help…?”   
“He died when Arthur murdered her! She was the only woman I’ve ever loved, Morgana, and he took her from me. I’ll rip his head and pike it for this!” The last was met with a chorus of approving growls from the thugs around him. They began to move towards the pair and the dragon, not a few drawing swords. Mordred rose up from the throne and nodded to himself.  
“You’ll always be Arthur’s pet, Merlin. So you’ll die for his pain. Morgana, you can stay with me. Rule at my side.” She held Merlin’s hand, still shocked at his appearance and still reeling from the change. She could feel it at a base level, instinctually knowing that he was as different from how he was as she was different from who she had been. Her hesitation proved enough for Mordred, who sneered at her and nodded.   
“Then die by his.” He turned around and the guardsmen surged forwards. Merlin threw up a hand and two flowers of fire exploded in front of them, even as Morgana threw up her own hands and hit the flanks with cold. It was an instant response, but it held the guards for a moment, though they backed up against the wall.   
“O’Drakon!” came Merlin’s cry, and a powerful summons followed the rest of his words. Kilgarrah, waiting in the clouds above, gave a roar that shattered the battlefield as though it were still and silent and Aithusa answered with her own. Her blast of dragonfire incinerated the core of thugs pressing in on them, and Mordred screamed as he burned. Morgana began to cry, sobbing hopelessly as Aithusa scooped her up and took flight, her white wings spreading wide and her magic shooting her into the air. Morgana was screaming even as Kilgarrah ripped the top of the castle open like an anthill, and Aithusa broke through, flying high and free into the sky as every dragon should. Below, Merlin darted through the screaming chaos to Mordred’s side and clutched him. The druid growled at him in his pain and his skin showed dark and burnt. Merlin held him for a moment, pushing the small bottle into his hands until Mordred screamed at him, insane with the pain. His twisted, clawed hands cracked around the burnt edges and Merlin whispered the spell for him to sleep. Rough hands grabbed him and threw him back, and Merlin ducked as a spear was thrown by the recovering thugs, who converged on Mordred with weapons drawn. Kilgarrah reached down and Merlin leapt into his clawed paw as the dragon exploded up into the sky with powerful beats of his wings. Merlin stared at his hands, bloody and charred, realising with revulsion that Mordred still covered him. He threw up and felt himself faint, even as the wind carried them away. A speck appeared above the clouds in front of them, and Aithusa’s much smaller form finally came into view. They flew through the clouds silently for the rest of the day. When they landed, both Morgana and Merlin collapsed, both strained beyond belief for the events they’d gone through. Morgana held Merlins hands and they cried.  
* * * * *   
Kilgarrah departed, leaving Merlin and Morgana covered in soot, dirt and exhausted. Aithusa curled around them, her twisted spine relaxing under Morgana’s touch even as above them, wyverns circled. Merlin brought them down and commanded them to guard the fortress from any but them, and Morgana’s tear streaked face rose up, staring about them. Merlin patted the wyverns and knelt by her side again. Around them, green grass was growing through the pale flagstones, and vines twisted all over the stone walls like the walls of Sigan’s palace, making both of them homesick for their little keep.   
“Where are we?” asked the sorceress, her voice rusty from crying in the wind of Aithusa’s escape. Merlin sighed and smiled at her, dragging himself from the depression that threatened to cloud him.   
“I’m sorry. We’re at the Fisher King’s Palace. In the Perilous Lands.” Their clothing was still strangely stain and dirt free, still looking like new. Morgana looked around at them, trying to find the wonder she’d always thought she’d experience coming here. Her thoughts were bleak and pained, however, and she steadied herself, her tears beginning again, even as Merlin folded her into his arms.   
“Oh, Mordred…” They held themselves like that until Aithusa mewled at them and Merlin smiled.   
“She’s hungry.” Morgana nodded and looked around them.   
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”   
“No. You don’t have anything to apologise for. I… He was right and he was angry and so very, very hurt. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you now. It was hard enough losing Freya, and that was… not like losing you would be.” She smiled at him, her face thick with grime and her hair tangled everywhere, and she made him smile back, her light encouraging him.   
“The Palace of the Fisher King. You’ve been here before, where do we go from here?” She still mourned Mordred, but covered it with a brave face. Merlin kissed her hand and the inside of her wrist, and she held him again. Tucked under his arm, they made their way towards the main citadel. It was covered in dirt and dust, much like them, and they moved towards the throne room. Merlin triggered the stone door to open again, locking the mechanism with a wave of his hand. He sighed at seeing the throne room, and the rotting wood of the throne. They moved beyond it, leaving out the other side of the throne room without speaking, even as they passed where the Fisher King had died. The trident symbols everywhere taunted them with symbols of fish, until Aithusa mewled from above them and dove into the ocean, collecting a mouthful of fish and chewing them. Her happiness and the abundance of food, not to mention being reunited with both Merlin and Morgana were only soured by the pain in her back and wings. The long flight had tired her, but she was still very happy, and Merlin smiled.  
“Does she remember us?” He nodded against her as they moved towards the North Tower, still exploring. The two wyverns also began fishing as the light began to fade, bringing up one huge, long billed fish between them, obviously skilled with long practice. The fish was dropped on the bridgeway that was scattered with refuse, obviously their dining area. The long bridgeway between the three top towers was shaped to look like a shark, speared upon the three prongs of a trident. From the land, it would look a sight, from the sea, it looked foreboding. Morgana shook her head.   
“This place… it would have been incredible.” He nodded silently and they continued on, moving up to the top level of the North Tower and finding the rooms comfortable and prepared. Shocked, they dropped, finding a full copper bath tub steaming hot that was big enough for both of them. Merlin looked at Morgana questioningly, who shook her head.  
“A present, you might say. A welcome sight, you are, Magic. Courage and Strength won’t be along this time, I take it?” Grettir appeared on the window sill, which looked remarkably identical to the one back at Sigan’s Keep in their rooms. Morgana gave a defeated laugh and went over, embracing the small man and thanking him wordlessly with a kiss on the cheek. He blushed and held his hand out to Merlin, handing him a small amulet with four even parts; blue, green, red and gold stones joined together by gold. He turned it in his hands and the stone showed only the blue and green halves, and Morgana gasped from the main table, coming forwards in shock. She looked at Merlin and closed her eyes.  
“I’ve seen this. I’ve seen that amulet. What does it mean?” Grettir smiled and held his hand out, waiting until Merlin lay the amulet across his thick palm.   
“These represent the four corners of your hearts. The red will take you to Camelot. The blue here, and the green to your quarters at Sigan’s Keep. The yellow will take you to the Isle of the Blessed, unless you move it to somewhere else.” He pulled four identical globes of the corresponding colours out of his pocket, each one no bigger than a thumbnail. “I’ll place these where they’re meant to go. Just touch the amulet and perform the transporting spell you used back in Camelot. As long as you’re touching the corresponding side of the amulet, that’s where you’ll go.” Merlin nodded to him and thanked him simply.  
“What about the Fisher Palace. How can we bring everyone here?” Grettir nodded and held up a large crystal.   
“You have to get a bigger gem. That’s all. This is only a single use, but it should bring along everyone that wants to come. Until you can summon the rest through more conventional means.”   
“I’ve been thinking about that. The Crystal Cave?” The wise wizard nodded. Again he handed the medallion to Merlin, and Morgana touched her sorcerer’s sleeve.   
“I can’t thank you enough, Grettir.” He shrugged and moved off to the window sill again.   
“You already have, Magic. You’re about to fulfil the lost destiny, picking up where Arthur left off. Continue on as you are, Merlin, and you’ll save magic from the world. That’s thanks enough.” His gaze shifted to Morgana, and he bowed low. “Besides, a woman like that should be reward enough.” He grinned when she blushed and turned away. When she looked back, he was gone.   
The next day, the table groaned with food for them, magically appearing and tasting at it’s most delicious. Morgana ate all that she could, then fed Aithusa, who came to the window and sat over the seat, eating tidbits for all the world looking like an overgrown tabby. Merlin explored the area and came back with the Fisher King’s staff, a concentrated shaft of pure crystal, fixed with a trident symbol at its end, three blue crystals wired together. He and Morgana spent the day working on Aithusa, straightening the poor dragon’s spine and wings. Healing spells raging around them, their own tiredness followed suit, but when the sun set on the day, Aithusa was taller and stronger than she’d been since her birth, chasing the wyverns up and down the bridgeway for their dinner with cries of delight as she sent dragonfire flickering against their tales, before soaring up into the sky. As night came, they held the crystal staff together and soared above the lands in their minds eyes, joined as one and searching. They touched the lives of all the lands before going to Camelot. “Come to the Perilous lands, if you can hear us. The magic in you will guide you. Come to the new world and bring with you your magic, for you will be safe here.” Their voices soared out and touched the souls of all that could hear. They heard a great cry from Sigan’s Retreat and then a familiar call reached out to them.   
“Lady Morgana? Merlin?”  
“Fægernes!” Merlin’s triumphant cry crossed that land, and Morgana smiled, even in her trance at her lover’s exuberance.  
“We hold the Fisher’s Keep, and it’s beginning anew, making a new land. Tomorrow, a portal will open. Make sure everyone is ready!” The warrior sorceress laughed and then they whisked away. Another force, Mordred’s power, lay silent to their call, but whether he did not answer or at present could not, they didn’t know. Finally, Merlin guided them back to Camelot.   
“Otherkin! Magic users! Come to the realm of the Fisher King, the Perilous lands are freed! Come, build a future where you may practice magic anew! We offer shelter and refuge to all!” There was a moment’s silence, and then a thin, watery voice, rusty from years of disuse sounded up.   
“Merlin! Morgana! I can hear you both!”   
“Gaius!” The shout nearly deafened the man, but he laughed in his thoughts and heard theirs echo as well. The connection broke after that, the power simply too great, but the amplifier that was the Fisher King’s staff was hot in their hands and they were out of energy. They fell asleep on the bed, still in their clothes in the morning sun, tired and exhausted.   
* * * * *  
They came in their hundreds, carrying everything from pots to pans to little ones and fishing poles. As Merlin and Morgana had met them at Sigan’s Keep and ushered them in so too did they meet them at the gates of the Fisher King’s Palace. Weeks turned into months, and still they came. Some came with skills and others with needs, but all had magic, and all had the freedom to use it. It was a golden few weeks, even as Merlin and Morgana were run thin tending to all the needs that arose. The wyverns came to an uneasy alliance with Aithusa, and Merlin built about them a kingdom. Morgana, regal in her ever clean teal green, as Merlin laughingly put it, sat back in her room and looked out over the sea. The storms had whipped the winds about, tipping the waves with white and sending salt up into the air. She breathed it deeply and felt a tingle at the base of her spine as Merlin stirred up the magic in the garden, plucking and resewing what he could into the earth far below. He looked up at her and smiled, waving. And Morgana was happy. She should have been content. But something was missing.   
* * * * *  
They held hands, all of them. The entire nation as one, with Merlin leading them in a chorus of power. Grettir stood there, right beside him, casting just as hard, controlling the magic so that he could guard the rivers. The ocean flowed up the lands and carved out the border territory of the realm, carving down into the earth and separating it from the rest of Albion.   
“Dægscield, bebeorgan and áræman Avalon!” The chant repeated while the ocean flowed up and over them, shrouding them deep in it’s power and Morgana stretched thin, feeling the land envelope them, support them and enhance them. The entire realm shuddered as it separated and shifted out, the mists of the falling waters exploding up and over the borders of the land. Merlin staggered to his knee, his eyes glowing brightly as above them, Aithusa roared her own magic, strengthening the barrier and shimmering it with dragon magic. The others kept up the chant though, and Morgana moved to Merlin’s side, grasping his shoulder and offering him her strength. With a final shout, the power of the entire realm swelled, and Avalon broke, forming from the ruins of the Fisher King’s realm. It moved out further into the ocean, still strong and yet hidden from the rest of the land. Grettir grunted as Merlin put his glowing hand on the man’s shoulder and blessed him in the Old Tongue, infusing him with a fraction of all their focussed powers, and he rocked back and forth for a moment before steadying himself and nodding. The guardian rose his arms and the mist shimmered at his call. Avalon was risen. They celebrated that night, on the night of Beltain as they had the year previous for the marriage in Sigan’s Keep. Morgana and Merlin snuck away when they could, both of them wanting to find some space which had been impossible enough in the last few weeks, even months. Aithusa was surrounded by laughing children, given them rides down her tail and mewling for chunks of roasted meat as reward. Merlin told her to enjoy herself, which she bowed her head. She was only beginning to answer back to him, learning her own speech from his lips and mind. Morgana patted her head and took Merlin’s arm as they left the courtyard. Across the stones, Grettir bowed low to them as they started up the steps. Behind them, the tower door shut magically. Their steps echoed up until they reached the top of the North Tower and shut the door. The cosy room was well lit and heated, a thick single sheet of glass closing the cold sea wind from them. Merlin sat there, the beginnings of a beard on his chin while she took to the bed. He scratched at his chin and his eyes drifted across to Morgana, who bound her hair in a thick braid for sleep and drifted behind the screen to take off her clothes.  
“Are you happy? Is this what you wanted, Morgana?” His words sent an echo of a memory across her back and she paused as he sat there, looking at him over the privacy screen.   
“This isn’t anything I thought possible, Merlin. We’ve created our own realm, our own kingdom here, where magic is free to be practiced, all at almost no harm to anyone. I never would have thought such a thing even possible…” She drifted off, still thinking of Mordred, twisted and full of hate and hurt.   
“Almost no hurt,” intoned Merlin thoughtfully, his eyes and face solemn as he echoed her thoughts with his own, of Mordred and the Aloe Rose tonic he’d pressed into the boys hand. He didn’t know, never knew, whether it had helped, in the end. Mordred had never shown his face again, though, never showed his power again after that first time. Merlin didn’t know whether he’d even died from his injuries or not. He sighed. Gaius had stayed in Camelot, to help Arthur, though Merlin frequently visited when he could, though not yet with Morgana, only using the amulet.   
“I could not ask for more, Merlin.” He nodded slowly, his thoughts far away, until he tilted his head, still solemn. He had changed, Morgana realised with a start. He was still her Merlin, but over the last couple of years, his boyish enthusiasm had changed. He was no giddy, gangly boy any more, though his ears remained a source of amusement and gentle teasing between them. He was straight and tall, carrying himself with quiet dignity. It extended itself all about him, with only Morgana coming back to break him out of it. With her, he felt as young as ever, and his cares drifted away.   
“But would you want for more?” His wisdom had grown, too, as he eyed her. A small purse of her lips banished her smile at the light in his eyes. They too, were the same, and would always be. She strode out from behind the privacy screen, draped in lace and sheer silks against her body. His eyes locked on to hers and the hunger was there in an instant.   
“There are some things I’ll always want, my Merlin. Always.” And then his lips were on hers and his hands were in her hair and the night grew hotter as the passion overwhelmed them.  
When they were breathless and finished, Morgana shifted and settled into Merlin’s arms, bringing his hand across to rest just beneath her breasts. There was but a moment of panic at the thought of sleep, and then she breathed deeply, feeling Merlin’s thumb graze across the skin of her belly and smiled to herself. She breathed in deeply again and centred herself, calming her mind and clearing it before her sleep. But it didn’t always work like that.  
* * * * *  
Heartbeat.  
Cobalt blue crystal shimmers in the light.  
Heartbeat  
Iridescent jade stone glows in the dark.  
Heartbeat.  
Light and Dark, swirling together like a river’s rapids.  
Heartbeat.  
Battle and steel and the cries of pain.  
Heartbeat. Heartbeat.  
Heat and flesh and passion flares.  
Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Heartbeat.  
Golden eyes staring into golden eyes, barely an inch apart.  
Heartbeat.  
Heartbeat.  
Merlin screams in righteous fury.  
His hands stretch out and weave the fabric of reality.  
Heartbeat.  
Crumbled stone surrounds cobalt blue crystal and iridescent jade stone.  
Merlin and Morgana, golden eyes of both, holding hands as the world around them crumbles.  
Deep in the decayed stone, the crystal and jade are pulsing, harder and faster, like a racing heartbeat, thundering along. Mordred screams his rage and Arthur roars his pain. Excalibur shines and Arthur calls for the new age even as he falls from the old...  
Joined. Merlin scours the battlefield, seeing at long last a gloved hand rising to his call. Blond hair matted with blood and two old friends smiling as though nothing was wrong.   
Heartbeat.  
Merlin. Morgana’s voice echoes down through the vision. I love you.  
Heartbreak.  
* * * * *  
Morgana surged up from their bed and gasped, searching for breath. Merlin was there in an instant, his arms cradling her and his comfort and strength standing still for her. Morgana breathed deeply of him, feeling her heartbeat slow back to normal. The power and the pain of the vision still gripped her, but Merlin held the panic at bay, as Gwen had never done. Slowly she regained herself, until she turned in Merlin’s arms. His eyes, those deep, cobalt blue eyes, met hers, and he smiled encouragingly. Morgana nodded to him, and he rested his chin on the top of her head and simply held her, just as she needed.   
“It’s not getting any better. It’s still a panic attack when the stronger visions come.” Merlin didn’t speak, he just held her, his arms telling her more than his words would.   
“I think… I’m not sure, but I think we’re joined, somehow. Joined together, either by magic or… or something else. In the dream, we were together, you and I, performing magic. There was a battle, too. A violent battle. And everything around us crumbled from stone to dust.” Merlin didn’t move, and barely breathed. She leant into him again, putting her head to his chest. For the first time in years, she felt the fear creep into her heart and sit there like a cancer, bringing tears to her eyes. It seemed every time some shadow of happiness came to her, that fate intervened to rip it from her. Her fingers curled into fists against Merlin’s chest possessively. She didn’t want to lose him, not now after everything. She would not lose him now after everything. Merlin noted her worry and leant back, looking into her eyes in the dull morning light. Dawn was over the back of the keep, but it’s lightening of the sky from grey had already begun.   
“I’m here,” he urged her, rocking her in his arms a moment. “Talk to me.”   
“What can I say? I still feel like this is all a dream.” Morgana looked down at her hands and then looked up at Merlin, and in that single glance, he saw everything. That scared girl who suffered from nightmares when he’d first come to Camelot, lost and alone in all her queenly surrounds. Constantly under Arthur’s shadow and facing every day the horror of being passed off to one of Uther’s allies as yet another tool in his political arsenal. The abject fear of her burgeoning magic, and what it would mean if she were caught. The betrayals, constant and overcrowding, from everyone around her, from the lies about her birth and the manipulations of everyone involved. And then came Merlin. Caught up in his own fears, he hadn’t reached out to her, but he’d not tried to manipulate her, either. They shared the same fear, even if they hadn’t shared it with one another. And he’d been the one soul in all of Camelot that had reached out to her for her, that remembered her kindness and appreciated her for it. When she’d been in the grips of her fear, he’d brought her flowers, not to curry favour with her, or to push his way into her sheets, but because he cared. And she felt she’d ruined that. She’d shamed it with her pain and frustration, tainting the heart that he reached for with bitterness and protecting herself. She was a monster, and as soon as he realised that, he was going to leave her, and it would crush her, because with Merlin, she was suddenly Morgana again, and the pain of being her was so lessened that on days she forgot it and was simply happy. For all that she’d done, she hated herself, and for all that he’d not done, she couldn’t help herself. Merlin had brought his light to her, and she couldn’t survive without it again. It would break her to lose him. She loved him.   
Morgana clutched at him as Merlin swayed and then moaned, his hands going to his head as the throbbing began to break through him, and he winced.   
“Merlin?” Her voice echoed her concern, and he smiled at her. She was staring at him, oblivious as the tears ran down his face unchecked. Merlin pulled her to him in a kiss, tender and yet passionate, his hands on her face and holding the back of her head to him, caring for her so much in that moment that it was impossible for him not to feel overwhelmed. His closed eyes flashed gold and Morgana gasped against him, opening her eyes, the pale, yet iridescent jade brightening for a moment, then flickering between the green that Merlin loved and his own cobalt blue. Morgana tensed and closed her eyes, struggling against the power of the vision.  
A storm of power rushed about her, making her whole body tingle with it and the feeling raced along her senses, exploding her mind into light and energy. Morgana shook and vaguely registered the sensation of Merlin holding her in his arms even as she drowned in him. Unheard drums thundered through her and her breath caught in her throat as choral singing brought goose bumps and energy across her as though she were struck by the sound itself. She couldn’t breathe and then suddenly she could feel him. Merlin was magic, the power of it and the simple joy of it that she’d never grasped before. It wasn’t a road to power, or a means to an end, but a pure and simple love. He enveloped her, surrounded her and made her safe, yet the power that surged through her and threatened to burn her soul to nothing was also him. After a moment, she breathed again, tasting everything and scenting him. He stood apart from her, arms wide in her mind’s eye, wanting her to see him for all that he was. Golden eyes locked in her vision, and she knew him, knew all of him, in that instant.  
She saw herself, walking away from him, the barest glint of her should from behind the screen and his fantasy that she would turn and see him and smile. His desire to be there for her, his thoughts that his destiny be damned if he could only have been there for her in her time of fear, to reassure her and be there as a friend to her, that she might see him as he saw her. She sobbed a gasp out loud as the pure, heavy weight of his destiny crushed her, tearing her in a thousand different directions, and always that pressure upon her. Sacrificing everything that could ever have been to follow a path that never for a moment cared about him. Sacrificing how he felt about her. Kilgarrah warning him from her, Gaius warning him from her, and even Arthur warning him from her. Merlin’s stubborn belief in her, defying them all with his belief that she was a good soul, believing in the Morgana that had come to Ealdor for him, that had smiled and touched her lips when she thought he was in love with Gwen. That had worn the deep red wine coloured dress that had brought him into his other, more passionate thoughts, while still being besotted and unable to think around her. Such passion, she marvelled. But always, the sensation of his destiny was about her, ripping her away and shaping his every waking second, with that ever present thought that he wanted what he could not have. The way he could feel his spine on fire when she’d looked at him, constantly challenging him to defy her will before her escape from Camelot. The pain and wracking guilt when he’d had to poison her, and the horror and rage that roared through him at the very thought of Morgause forcing him to do so. Above all, his unspoken desire, his heated passion, his rage, that immense power, strong enough to hold destiny on his thin shoulders was the simple core of truth, deep inside. That he saw her. And loved her. And never thought himself worth her attention. That he thought all this would not last because she was too perfect for him. That she was too beautiful, and too much. He didn’t see the scars that had marred her back, but had truly healed them, not for his sake, but for hers. He didn’t care about the things she’d done as a person, because he blamed himself for the cause. Morgana took a steadying breath, and opened her eyes, looking deeply at Merlin, plain, simple Merlin who was there for her and could break open the sky with his power, but only wanted her to love him. He was wonder and light and new and old and above all, he was hers. She smiled softly at him and nodded. She could see him. She could see all of him, now. Their souls were joined, and always would be. If nothing else were certain, Morgana knew that Merlin would always love her. And that, to her, meant only one thing.   
“Marry me.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you need to know what their armour looks like, Look up Guild Wars 2, light armour concept. It's completely based off that. :D Full credit for the designs goes to, um, whoever designed it. It wasn't me. I struggle with stick figures.
> 
> https://www.google.com.au/search?sa=G&q=guild+wars+2+armor&tbm=isch&tbs=simg:CAQSZRpjCxCo1NgEGgIIAwwLELCMpwgaPAo6CAISFOohgRXOIuMWyhi7HNkQ4xCcF-oUGiC-Hp4o0DcjR6KpEpkBz7plCY7MyJUHZLMS-PIe8thu0AwLEI6u_1ggaCgoICAESBMB8E_1UM&ei=qLAJVJDiLc278gXo44KwAw&ved=0CBoQwg4oAA&biw=1360&bih=650


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